But he was smiling.
The next morning Carla saw it.
She stared at the dress for a second.
Then she burst out laughing.
“What is that?”
“My prom dress,” I said.
“That patchwork mess?” she said.
Noah stepped into the hallway.
“I made it.”
She looked at him slowly.
“You made it?”
He lifted his chin.
“Yeah.”
She smiled in that slow, cruel way she had.
“That explains a lot.”
I stepped forward.
“Enough.”
She waved toward the dress.
“If you wear that to prom, the whole school will laugh at you.”
Noah’s face turned red.
